Sidse Babett Knudsen: The Life Story Behind the Borgen Star

At eighteen, Sidse Babett Knudsen packed a bag, left Copenhagen, and went to live in Paris, where she looked after other people’s children and studied acting in a language she was still learning. It was not the start most actors choose. There was no agent, no audition, no famous school with her name on a list. There was a family who needed an au pair, a small theatre school called the Théâtre de l’Ombre, and a young Danish woman who wanted to see whether she could make a life out of pretending to be other people. She stayed for years. When she came home, she could speak French, she could hold a stage, and she knew something that would carry her through the next thirty years: good acting is mostly listening, and listening takes patience.

Knudsen was born on 22 November 1968 in Copenhagen. Her father, Ebbe Knudsen, earned his living with a camera. Her mother, Susanne Andersen, taught school. She was the youngest of three children, growing up in a flat where books piled up, films were argued about at the table, and a photograph on the wall was something to look at properly rather than glance past. A photographer’s child learns early that a face changes in a second, and that the second matters. A teacher’s child learns that people say one thing and mean another, and that the gap between the two is where the truth sits. Both lessons went into her acting, and they are still visible in it.

She did not hurry. After Paris she trained at the Danish National School of Performing Arts and finished there in 1990, and then she spent two decades working in Danish theatre and film without becoming famous outside her own country. She played Julie in Let’s Get Lost in 1997. She was in The One and Only in 1999, a comedy that filled Danish cinemas. She played Helen in After the Wedding in 2006. She collected Bodil and Robert awards, the two prizes that matter most in Danish film, and she went home to Copenhagen each night. Then, in 2010, she was cast as Birgitte Nyborg in Borgen, a prime minister who tried to run a country and keep a family at the same time, and suddenly audiences in Britain, in America, and far beyond Denmark knew her name. She was forty-one. The wait had been long, and the work she had done while waiting is what made the performance possible.

A Flat Full of Books, Photographs and Arguments

Copenhagen gave Knudsen a childhood built out of looking and listening. Her father’s work filled the home with images: prints drying, contact sheets spread on tables, conversations about light and timing. Photography is a patient art. You wait for the moment, you take it, and you cannot take it again. Knudsen grew up watching that patience, and she absorbed it. Her mother’s work filled the home with a different kind of attention. A teacher watches thirty children and learns to read a room in seconds, to spot the one who is lost, the one who is pretending, the one who needs a question asked differently. Knudsen absorbed that too.

She was the third child, and third children often become watchers. The older two spoke first, argued first, and got the attention first. The youngest sat back, took notes, and learned how a family works from the edges. That habit never left her. As an adult she still describes herself as an observer, someone who gathers details before she speaks, and her performances are built the same way: a gesture here, a pause there, a look that says more than a speech. She did not learn that in a classroom. She learned it at a kitchen table in Copenhagen.

Theatre came into her life through family outings rather than through ambition. She went to plays with her parents, sat in the dark, and watched actors do what she would one day do. She liked the silence before a play begins, the moment when the lights go down and a whole room agrees to believe the same story. She liked the way a good actor could make a hall full of strangers laugh or go quiet with a single line. She did not announce that she wanted to be an actress. She simply kept going to the theatre, kept watching, and kept thinking about how it was done.

Denmark itself shaped her in another way. It is a small country, and its acting world is small too. Everyone knows everyone, reputations travel fast, and there is nowhere to hide a bad performance. That smallness can be a comfort and a discipline at once. Knudsen learned to take her work seriously because the people watching were people she would meet again the next week. She carried that seriousness with her when she left, and it is one reason directors trust her: she treats every job as if the whole of Danish theatre is watching, because in a way, it is.

Paris at Eighteen: Children, French and a Small Theatre School

The decision to go to Paris at eighteen was a bold one, and it changed her. She went as an au pair, which meant living with a French family, caring for their children, cooking, cleaning, and fitting her own life around theirs. It was ordinary work, and it was hard work, and it had nothing to do with applause. She got up early, she took children to school, she spoke French all day, and she learned the language the way a person learns a language when they have to buy bread in it: quickly, and with mistakes.

In the evenings she studied at the Théâtre de l’Ombre, a small theatre school where she learned to act in French. Acting in a second language is a strange exercise. You cannot rely on the words coming naturally, because they do not. You have to think about every sound, every rhythm, and every meaning, and that thinking makes you listen harder to everyone else on stage. Knudsen has said that the Paris years taught her humility, because she was a beginner again, and patience, because a language does not arrive in a week. She also learned that acting is not about being impressive. It is about being truthful, and truth sounds the same in Danish and in French.

Paris gave her more than a language. It gave her the experience of being foreign, of misunderstanding a joke, of getting lost on the Métro, of feeling far from home. That experience is gold for an actor, because so many characters are foreigners in their own lives: a woman in a job she does not understand, a mother in a marriage that has changed, a politician in a room full of enemies. Knudsen had lived that feeling, and she could draw on it whenever a part asked for it. She did not go to Paris to find herself, in the way people say. She went to Paris to lose the comfort of home, and to learn what was left when it was gone.

She stayed for several years, working in small Paris theatres, taking whatever parts came, and living on very little money. There was no fame in it, and no one in Denmark knew what she was doing. That anonymity was a gift. She could fail without anyone watching, she could try things without anyone judging, and she could learn without anyone expecting a result. When she finally went back to Copenhagen, she was twenty-something, she spoke French, she had acted in two languages, and she was ready for the formal training she had skipped by going abroad first.

Theatre School in Copenhagen and Two Decades of Steady Work

The Danish National School of Performing Arts in Copenhagen gave her the formal training Paris had not. She studied voice, movement, text, and character, and she graduated in 1990, ready to work. What followed was not a rise to stardom. It was a long, solid career in Danish theatre and film, the kind of career that builds an actor slowly and leaves no gaps. She took stage roles in Copenhagen, she took film parts when they came, and she learned the business of being a working actor: rehearsals, tours, long runs, and the discipline of doing the same play well on a Tuesday night when the hall is half full.

Stage work was the centre of it. On stage there is no editing, no second take, and no camera to cut away to a reaction shot. An actor either holds the room or does not, and Knudsen held it. Directors in Copenhagen began to ask for her by name, because she arrived knowing her lines, she listened to her fellow actors, and she made the production better. She played comedy and drama, she played women who were kind and women who were difficult, and she refused the easy parts, the ones that asked for nothing but a pretty face and a smile. The hard parts taught her more, and she took them on purpose.

Film came alongside the stage work, and it asked for a different scale. On camera, a small movement is enough, and Knudsen’s habit of watching people paid off. She could play a scene with her eyes, with a tilt of the head, with a silence that lasted a beat longer than the audience expected. Danish directors noticed, and they cast her in films that needed that kind of subtlety. She was not a star. She was a reliable, serious actor, and in a small industry, that reputation is worth more than fame, because it means the phone keeps ringing.

She was also becoming a mother during these years, and she kept her family life separate from her work. She lived in Copenhagen, she went to rehearsals, she came home, and she did not turn her private life into a story for magazines. That separation was deliberate, and it protected both halves of her life. The work got her full attention when she was working, and her family got her full attention when she was home. It is a simple arrangement, and it is one that many actors find impossible. Knudsen made it work for twenty years before Borgen arrived, and she has made it work ever since.

Julie, The One and Only, and Helen: Three Danish Films

Her screen career in Denmark began to gather weight in the late nineteen nineties. Let’s Get Lost, released in 1997, followed a group of young Copenhagen people trying to work out love, friendship, and what to do with their lives. Knudsen played Julie, and critics singled out her performance for its warmth and its lack of showing off. She did not push the emotion. She let it sit in the room, and the audience came to it. The film did well in Denmark, and it introduced her to cinema audiences who had only known her from the stage.

In 1999 she appeared in The One and Only, Den eneste ene in Danish, a romantic comedy that became one of the most successful Danish films ever made at the box office. Danish audiences recognised themselves in it: the awkward dates, the family dinners, the misunderstandings that turn into jokes. Knudsen was part of an ensemble that made the film feel like real life, and her comic timing, learned on stage and sharpened in Paris, showed that she could make people laugh without ever looking as if she were trying to. Comedy is harder than drama, because the audience knows at once when a joke has failed. Her jokes did not fail.

Seven years later came After the Wedding, directed by Susanne Bier and released in 2006, in which Knudsen played Helen. The film was a drama about a man who returns from India to Denmark and finds his past waiting for him, and Helen was at the centre of the complications. Knudsen played her with a control that made the character’s pain visible without turning it into melodrama. The film was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, which took it, and Knudsen, to audiences far beyond Denmark for the first time. She did not chase that attention. She went back to work in Copenhagen, as she always had.

Awards followed her through these years. She won the Bodil Award, given by Danish film critics, and the Robert Award, given by the Danish Film Academy, the two honours that count most in her country. She accepted them, thanked the people she had worked with, and went back to rehearsal. She has never been an actor who collects prizes and displays them. She treats them as a note from colleagues, a sign that the work was noticed, and then she moves on to the next job. That attitude is part of why her colleagues respect her. She is interested in the next character, not the last trophy.

Birgitte Nyborg Takes the Podium

Borgen began in 2010, and it changed Knudsen’s life. The series, created by Adam Price, followed Birgitte Nyborg, a politician who becomes Denmark’s first woman prime minister, and it followed her not only in parliament but at home, where the job pulled her marriage apart and left her children wondering where their mother had gone. Knudsen played Birgitte as a woman who believed she could do good, who discovered that doing good costs more than she expected, and who kept going anyway. She did not play a heroine. She played a person with a job that was too big for her and a family that needed her, and the tension between the two was the whole show.

The series found its audience first in Denmark, then in Britain, where the BBC showed it and critics wrote about it with a enthusiasm usually reserved for British drama. Then it travelled further, to America and to dozens of other countries, carried by subtitles and by word of mouth. Viewers who had never seen Danish television discovered that a small country could make a political drama as gripping as anything from Hollywood, and Birgitte became the character they talked about. Knudsen’s acting was the reason. She made a prime minister feel like a neighbour: someone who worries, who gets tired, who says the wrong thing, and who gets up the next morning and tries again.

Three seasons ran from 2010 to 2013, and each one asked more of Birgitte. She lost her marriage, she lost her party, she built a new one, and she learned that power is not a prize but a loan that has to be repaid. Knudsen played every stage of that journey without ever making Birgitte simple. When Birgitte made a mistake, Knudsen showed the thinking behind it, so the audience understood why a clever woman would do a foolish thing. When Birgitte won, Knudsen showed the price of the win, so the audience never cheered without also feeling uneasy. That honesty is what made the performance last in people’s minds long after the final episode.

She was forty-one when the first season aired, and the fame that came with it was of a kind she had never sought. She gave interviews, she appeared on British television, and she spoke about Danish politics with a knowledge that came from having lived inside the character for years. She handled it the way she handled everything else: calmly, and with attention to the work rather than to herself. She did not move to London or Los Angeles. She stayed in Copenhagen, and she let the world come to her.

A Foreign Minister Returns: Power and Glory in 2022

Nine years after Borgen ended, it came back. Borgen: Power and Glory arrived in 2022 on Netflix, and Knudsen returned as Birgitte, older now, and working as Denmark’s foreign minister rather than its prime minister. The story turned on Greenland, on oil, and on a small country caught between the interests of larger ones, and it asked Birgitte to make choices that were harder than the ones she had faced in office. Knudsen did not try to recreate the Birgitte of 2013. She played a woman who had learned from her failures, who was tougher and sadder, and who still believed that a small country could stand up for itself.

Returning to a part after nearly a decade is a risk. The actor has changed, the audience has changed, and the world has changed, and the temptation is to copy the old performance. Knudsen did not copy it. She built on it, using everything she had learned in the years between, and the new season stood on its own. Critics and audiences responded, and the series found a new generation of viewers on Netflix who had missed it the first time. For Knudsen, the return proved something she had always believed: a character is not finished when a series ends, and an actor is not finished when a part ends either. Both can grow, if they are given the time.

The new season also showed how much the world had changed around Borgen. In 2010, Danish politics felt like a local story. In 2022, with questions of energy, climate, and great-power rivalry dominating the news, a drama about a foreign minister from a small country felt urgent. Knudsen played that urgency without raising her voice, which is her way. Birgitte does not shout in a crisis. She listens, she thinks, and she acts, and the audience trusts her because Knudsen makes the thinking visible. That is a rare skill, and it is the reason the character survived a nine-year gap.

Westworld, Burgundy and the Translators’ Bunker

Borgen opened doors abroad, and Knudsen walked through them without leaving Copenhagen behind. In 2016 she joined Westworld, the American science fiction series about a theme park where lifelike robots act out the fantasies of rich guests. She played Theresa Cullen, a senior executive at the park, a woman who managed a world she could not control and who paid for that failure. Theresa was cold, efficient, and frightened underneath, and Knudsen played the fear behind the efficiency, which made the character more interesting than a simple villain. It was her first large American production, and she held her own in a cast full of stars, speaking English with the same ease she brought to Danish.

Two years earlier, in 2014, she had appeared in The Duke of Burgundy, a film by Peter Strickland about two women, Cynthia and Evelyn, living in a dreamlike world of butterflies, old houses, and ritual. Knudsen played Cynthia, the partner who seemed to be in charge and who was, in truth, just as uncertain as the woman she loved. The film was strange, beautiful, and unlike anything she had done before, and her performance was praised for its delicacy. She did not play a politician or a manager. She played a lover, and she played her with the same attention to small detail that she brought to Birgitte, which is why the performance worked in such a different world.

In 2019 she worked in French again, in The Translators, a thriller by Régis Roinsard about nine translators locked in a bunker to translate a bestselling novel in secret, while someone leaks it to the outside world. Knudsen played Helen Tuxen, the Danish translator, and she brought to the part the French she had learned as an au pair thirty years earlier. The film was a hit in France, and it closed a circle: the girl who had gone to Paris at eighteen to learn a language was now acting in that language in a major European film. She had not wasted those years. She had banked them, and the film spent them.

She kept working in Denmark throughout, appearing in Danish film and television, and she kept the balance that had always mattered to her: home in Copenhagen, work wherever the good parts were. She did not become an actress who lived in hotels. She became an actress who travelled for work and came home for life, and that balance is visible in the steadiness of her performances. She is not chasing anything. She is choosing, and the choosing shows.

A Quiet Home, a Loud Influence

Knudsen’s private life has stayed private, and that is a decision she has defended for years. She is a mother, she has a partner, and she lives in Copenhagen, where she can walk to the shops, take her child to school, and go to rehearsal without a crowd. She gives interviews when a project opens, she talks about the work with warmth and intelligence, and then she goes home. She does not post her family life online, she does not attend events to be photographed, and she does not use her personal story to promote a film. The work is the story, and she lets it stand on its own.

That restraint has not limited her influence. Borgen changed how the world thought about Danish television, and it helped open the way for other Danish series that followed it abroad, among them The Killing and The Bridge, both of which found large audiences outside Denmark. Knudsen was at the front of that wave, and she knows it, but she talks about it as a collective achievement, not a personal one. Danish drama succeeded because writers, directors, and actors worked together over many years, and she was one part of that effort. It is a modest way to describe a large change, and it is typical of her.

She is now in her late fifties, and she is still working, still picking parts, still learning. Actors of her age are often offered a narrow range of roles, and Knudsen has avoided that trap by choosing parts that interest her rather than parts that flatter her. She plays mothers, ministers, translators, and lovers, and she plays them as people first and as types second. That is why directors keep calling. They know she will arrive prepared, she will understand the character, and she will give them a performance that is honest rather than showy.

The thread that runs through her whole career is the one she picked up in Paris at eighteen: listen first, speak second, and let the truth arrive in its own time. She listened as an au pair in a French household, she listened as a student at a theatre school, she listened as a young actor in Copenhagen, and she listened as Birgitte Nyborg in a cabinet meeting. Listening is not a passive act for her. It is the work itself, and it is the reason her characters feel like people the audience has met. The girl who left Copenhagen to look after children in Paris became a woman the world trusts to play its leaders, and she did it by paying attention, one person at a time, for more than thirty years.

My Take:

When I think about Sidse Babett Knudsen, the first thing I feel is respect. She is not a loud actress. She never shouts, never overplays, and never tries to win me over with grand gestures. She performs with restraint, and that restraint carries more force than any shouting. When I watch her as Birgitte Nyborg in Borgen, I see a woman who is thinking, who is listening, who is trying to make a hard decision, and I believe her. I believe her because she does not pretend. She simply becomes the character, and that is an uncommon gift. I admire that style of acting, because it rings true, and truth is the hardest quality to pretend.

I admire her patience most of all. She did not become famous when she was young. She spent years in Paris, years in theatre school, years in small roles, learning her craft one step at a time. She was in her forties when Borgen made her famous around the world. That is a lengthy wait, and most people would have surrendered long before. She did not give up. She carried on working, carried on learning, and carried on trusting that fine work would be seen eventually. That patience is a lesson for all of us. At times the finest things need years, and at times you must labour quietly for a long while before the world takes notice. Sidse did that, and I respect her for it.

What moves me about Borgen is the way it shows the price of power. Birgitte wants to change the world, but she also wants to be a good mother, a good wife, and a good person. She cannot do all of those things at once, and she has to make hard choices. Sidse plays those choices with such honesty that I feel the pain of them. I have never been a prime minister, but I have had to make hard choices in my own life, choices between work and family, between what I want and what is right. Watching Birgitte, I felt understood. That is what great acting does. It takes a life that is very different from mine and makes me feel that it is my life too.

I also think about her time in Paris, and how brave it must have been to move to a new country at eighteen, to work as an au pair, to learn a new language, and to study acting in a place where she knew no one. That takes courage, and it takes a kind of independence that is rare in a young person. She did not stay in Copenhagen where it was safe. She went out into the world, she learned, she struggled, and she came back stronger. I think that experience shaped her as an actress, because it taught her to listen, to observe, and to understand people who are different from her. That is the heart of acting, and she learned it by living it.

I love the way she lives her life now. She is famous, but she is not obsessed with fame. She makes her home in Copenhagen, she is a mother, she guards her privacy, and she allows her work to speak on her behalf. She never trades on her private life for attention, and she never runs after cameras. That is a quiet kind of dignity, and I admire it. In a world where many famous people live their lives in public, Sidse keeps hers private, and that privacy makes her performances feel more honest. She is not selling herself. She offers a story to her audience, and that is exactly as it ought to be.

I also reflect on how she portrays women who are powerful and imperfect in equal measure. Birgitte is strong, but she is also flawed. She errs, she wounds those she loves, and she must live alongside those errors. Sidse does not hide those flaws. She displays them openly, and allows the audience to witness them. That takes courage, because so many actresses prefer to play flawless women. Sidse plays real women, with real faults, and that makes them more interesting and more human. I think that is why audiences love her. They recognise themselves in her characters, not a flawless picture, but a genuine person doing her utmost.

If any sadness lingers in her story, it is that fame found her so late. She was a wonderful actress for many years before Borgen, but the world did not see her. That is not her fault. The blame lies with a world that often misses quiet talent, and only spots people once they land in a large success. But I am glad that Borgen came, and I am glad that the world finally saw her. It is never too late to be recognised, and Sidse’s story proves that. She was in her forties, and she became a star. That offers hope to everyone who has felt passed over for far too long.

I also gather from her that acting has little to do with being noticed. It is about seeing. Sidse watches people, she listens to them, and she understands them. That is why her characters feel so real. She is not performing for the camera. She listens to her fellow actors, thinks inside the character, and lets the truth surface at its own pace. I believe that lesson reaches beyond acting, into life itself. If we spent more time listening and less time talking, we would grasp others better, and grow better ourselves. Sidse teaches me that by the way she acts.

For a young reader, I think the lesson from Sidse is simple: take your time, learn your craft, and do not rush. She passed years studying, years taking small parts, and years in patient waiting. Fame never came to her in a rush, and she had no need of it arriving that way. She became good first, and then she became famous. That is the right order. If you hope to act, or write, or do anything else, study first, labour hard, and stay patient. The world will spot you once you are prepared, and by then you will be prepared for it. That is what Sidse teaches me.

In the end, I think Sidse Babett Knudsen is a reminder that quiet power is real power. She never raises her voice, never demands the spotlight, and never has to. She merely performs her work to a high standard, and the work vouches for itself. I feel thankful for her, and I hope she continues acting for many years ahead. The world could use more performers like her, performers who are truthful, patient, and genuine. When I watch Borgen, I do not just see a prime minister. I see a woman giving her utmost, and an actress giving hers as well. That is a lovely thing, and it is why I shall keep following her work.

I also think about The Duke of Burgundy, and how it shows a different side of her. It is a strange and beautiful film, about two women in a dreamlike world, and Sidse plays Cynthia with a quiet power that is very different from Birgitte Nyborg. She does not play a politician. She plays a lover, a woman who is in control and vulnerable at the same time, and she does it with a subtlety that is remarkable. That range is rare, and it is why I admire her. She is not just one character. She is many characters, and she plays each one with the same honesty. That is the mark of a great actress, and it is one that few people achieve.

There is another side to her that I want to mention, and that is her work in French. She lived in Paris, she learned French, and she has acted in French films, including The Translators, with the same ease she brings to Danish and English. That is not just talent. It is hard work, and it is a willingness to be a beginner again and again. I respect that, because many people are afraid to be beginners. They want to be good at everything at once. Sidse was willing to be bad, to make mistakes, and to learn, and that is why she is so good now. She shows that learning a language is not just about words. It is about understanding a culture, a people, and a way of life.

I also think about her work in Westworld, and how it showed her to a new audience in America. She played Theresa Cullen, a senior manager at a theme park where robots live out human fantasies, and she played her with a mix of intelligence and ambition. It was a very different role from Birgitte, and it showed that she could work in a big American production, with a large cast, and hold her own. She did not try to be like the other actors. She was herself, and that was enough. I admire that, because fame in America can change people, and Sidse did not let it change her. She stayed Danish, she stayed quiet, and she stayed true to her craft.

I think about the young actresses who look at Sidse and see a role model. They see a woman who spent years in Paris, years in theatre school, years in small roles, and who became a star in her forties. That tale tells them fame at twenty is not a requirement for a great career. They may study, they may develop, and they may improve as the years pass. That is a hopeful message in a world that often tells young women that they must succeed young or not at all. Sidse proves that wrong, and I am glad she does. Her career has run long and is still running, which is the finest kind of career there is.

I also want to say something about her voice, because it is often mentioned, but not always in the right way. Sidse has a calm voice, and when she speaks, I feel the same honesty that I feel when she acts. She does not speak to impress me. She speaks because she has something to say, and she says it clearly and quietly. That calmness is a gift, and it is one that I admire. In a world that is loud and fast, Sidse is calm and slow, and that calmness makes me pay attention. She does not need to shout to be heard. She simply speaks, and people listen.

I also think about the way she handles interviews. She does not give big, dramatic answers. She speaks quietly, she thinks before she answers, and she says what she means in simple words. That is a rare quality in a famous person, and it is one that I admire. Many stars talk a lot and say very little. Sidse talks a little and says a lot. When she talks about Borgen, about Birgitte, about Danish politics, she does it with a knowledge that comes from having played the role for years, and from having thought deeply about it. I learn something every time I hear her speak, and that is a sign of a thoughtful person, not just a talented actress.

I also think about the way she has inspired other Danish actors. Young actors in Denmark look at Sidse and see a woman who worked for twenty years before she became famous, who studied in Paris, who learned her craft in theatre, and who became a star in her forties. That story tells them that they do not have to rush, that they can learn, and that they can become better with time. I hope those young actors remember that, and I hope they keep working, keep learning, and keep believing, just as she did.

One more thought stays with me. I think about the hall in the image, with its tall columns and its quiet light, and how it fits Sidse. She is like that hall: grand, but not loud, strong, but not showy, and full of light that comes in slowly through tall windows. I hope she keeps standing tall, keeps working, and keeps showing the world what quiet acting can do. She is a star, yet a subdued one, and that is the finest kind of star to be.

Frequently Asked Questions

Where was Sidse Babett Knudsen born and how old is she?

Sidse Babett Knudsen was born on 22 November 1968 in Copenhagen, Denmark, which makes her 57 years old in 2026. She grew up in Copenhagen, studied acting in Paris and at the Danish National School of Performing Arts, and graduated in 1990.

What is Sidse Babett Knudsen most famous for?

She is most famous for playing Birgitte Nyborg, the first female prime minister of Denmark, in the television series Borgen. The series ran from 2010 to 2013 and returned in 2022, and it made her known to audiences around the world.

Did Sidse Babett Knudsen appear in Westworld?

Yes, she appeared in the American series Westworld in 2016, playing Theresa Cullen, a senior manager at the theme park. The role showed her working in English in a large American production, very different from her work in Danish television.

What was Sidse Babett Knudsen’s early career like?

She lived in Paris for several years from the age of eighteen, working as an au pair and studying theatre, before returning to Denmark to study at the Danish National School of Performing Arts. She then worked in Danish theatre and film for many years before Borgen.

What films has Sidse Babett Knudsen been in?

Her films include Let’s Get Lost in 1997, The One and Only in 1999, The Duke of Burgundy in 2014, and The Translators in 2019. She has worked in Danish, English, and French films, and she has also lent her voice to The Lego Movie.

Has Borgen returned with new seasons?

Yes, Borgen returned in 2022 with a fourth season called Borgen: Power and Glory, shown on Netflix, with Sidse returning as Birgitte Nyborg, now a foreign minister facing new challenges in Danish and international politics.

Where does Sidse Babett Knudsen live now?

She lives a quiet life in Copenhagen, Denmark, where she is a mother and a working actress. She values her privacy, gives interviews when she has a new project, and continues to work in Danish and international film and television.